Grove Hell on Earth
by Charles RocketBoy
Summary: Instead of Lawndale High, Daria was sent to Grove Hills School for the Intellectually Gifted. Now she teeters on the verge of a complete mental breakdown, and her only hope is to contact Amelia: someone she never even liked.
1. Chapter 1

1.

The worst part was that her mother had been trying to _help_.

Helen had found out about Grove Hills by sheer chance when researching Lawndale, and could easily have missed it. Even the kids in Highland would find this a no-brainer: why send Daria to a regular high school again when she could go to a school for gifted, intellectual youngsters? (Aside from the cost, but Quinn would have to make do with just _one_ new outfit per day.)

In all the rush of the move and getting the admissions test done and all that, the Morgendorffers had never had the time to visit Grove Hills before it was time for Daria to actually go there. In retrospect, that had been a mistake. Like the first day of the Battle of the Somme.

It seemed to go fine at first, she'd lucked out in getting a single dorm room _and_ the other kids she met seemed misanthropic and surly. Common ground at last.

The problems started at the first night.

"They say high school is supposed to be the happiest time of your life."

"Only if your life is extremely short," she deadpanned.

Graham grinned. "Exactly!"

And then he _really_ grinned, a shark who'd spotted the Titanic sinking. "_Our_ happiest years will begin when we make our first million! I can't wait to stroll down the Riviera with a model on each arm."

"I guess you can be intellectually gifted and still be morally bankrupt." She'd been kinda, sorta, maybe, not-really-but-I-hope-you-are joking.

"Well, I certainly hope so." He'd not been joking.

She'd tried to give the other kids a chance- okay, she'd thought hard about giving them a chance. But then the conversation had gone onto Ayn Rand and objectivism and opposition to the ethic of altruism, and she just couldn't help herself:

"I wonder if she got upset when people opposed altruism and objectively decided not to get her anything for her birthday."

Lara turned to Daria with bemusement, but didn't say a word. The other kids looked equally confused.

"I thought I'd add to the debate. I'm not sure what I added, but hey."

Graham frowned. "You're awfully full of yourself for someone who's just started at this school."

"Intestines, pancreas, stomach... it all adds up."

He ignored that. "Maybe you should hold off giving your opinions until after you've been at Grove Hills for more than ten minutes – until you've _got_ an opinion worth hearing."

She'd never admit it, but that actually stung. This wasn't how things were meant to be going. She was out of regular high school, for god's sake, she wasn't the lone smart kid among idiots, it was supposed to be _good_. That was the whole point.

Her principles slipped for a second, and she rushed to patch things up.

"Look, Graham, Lara, maybe I've started off on the wrong foot but-"

And they were continuing their conversation and ignoring her.

"I want to apologise for-"

They'd actually shifted position slightly when she said that, just so she'd be less visible. Okay, that did it.

"So who's the QB here? I sure love those football jocks. Rar rar. Go team."

The conversation stopped, briefly, so they could glare at her like she'd just announced she liked to strangle kittens. And then it started again, louder.

She tried talking to other kids but word spread fast. She'd actually overheard someone say "she's so _public school_", something clearly akin to leprosy.

_This isn't a problem,_ Daria told herself. _It's just isolation. You're used to that. Nothing you can't handle._

* * *

Isolation, it turned out, was a tad more isolating when you didn't have a family to come home to. She never thought she'd miss Quinn's babbling, but after the first week of school even a tirade against sweatpants would've been a relief.

The parents were allowed to visit but… well, the law firm. They _phoned_, at least, but her mother's voice was so full of desperate hope she found she couldn't say "this place doesn't just suck, it's become an event horizon".

She'd been working up to that zinger. She'd spent hours hoping to lay the law down, and then came questions about Grove Hills and her new friends and how great it must be to be with others like her and she's enjoying it, right?

"It's okay. I'm meeting a finer breed of idiot."

After the first week, she found the library – the last redoubt, her Masada – was a refuge no more. The cliques had infiltrated there, trying to show off their smarts and how they were smarter than _those_ guys, yeah, _them_. It was hard to read James Joyce when you had people tittering and laughing about you juuuuust out of earshot. She started to stay in her room after that.

Class was a brief refuge, intense and distracting – the teachers didn't slow down, especially Arthur "the Calculator" Schwartz the maths teacher, who mercilessly tore through his lessons without pause, abandoning the bodies of those with tired wrists or who committed the sin of not understanding a concept first time round. (He had nicknamed himself "the Calculator", always saying it in a gruff Arnie voice, imagining himself to be considered a scary badass. The students had nicknamed him Dickhead.) Other classes were slower but the course matter, she had to admit, was fascinating. She was being _challenged_.

This was how her fellow classmates responded to her keenness to learn:

"_Clearly_ struggling. You want to bet she starts crying when we get to Ulysses?"

Lana had mispronounced it "You lice's", which was just insult to injury.

"I hope we get around to One Thousand, Nine Hundred and Eighty Four by that Orwell guy soon," said Daria loudly. Nobody got it.

Daria spent the first month studying harder than she'd ever studied before, determined to keep her grades as high as humanly possible as her big "up yours". Life was all study, all the time (except for peeing, obviously, but she classed that as Biology revision). It kept her off the streets, it kept her occupied, it kept her from having to look at Graham's face. It unfortunately meant the Science teacher, elderly Mrs Wright-Cotman, kept catching her after class to tell her "well _done_!" and speak in patronising tones about how _well_ she was doing for someone who'd come from Texas. (Daria began talking in cowboy slang with a horrific drawl, and became very worried after noticing Wright-Cotman genuinely didn't realise "wah thank'ee missus ma'am" was taking the piss.)

At the very start of the second month, Daria sat in her room with the book on Noam Chomsky and realised with horror that she didn't want to read it.

She didn't want to read _at all._

There was no fun in it anymore.

And at that moment, there was nothing to keep the loneliness out: the vast waves come to rip apart the town and leave it so much useless rubble, something that could not be stopped and showed you how pathetic you were to think you could do it. She was in a tiny room in an unfriendly place far from anyone she knew and anyone that she could possibly stand to know, and nothing could distract her from that.

She wanted to call her parents, call out mayday and hope for rescue teams. But that hope in her mother's voice…

"Hope is keeping me in despair. It's the reverse Pandora's box."

She didn't notice she'd just talked to herself.

* * *

She hadn't slept. She'd barely _moved_. Night had crawled past in a century of time, and she stood up and walked out to go to class solely because it was there. It wasn't even a fun class, it was maths with Dickhead.

Dimly, watching the Daria biopic from inside a prison of meat, she was aware that something was wrong. Dickhead was talking about advanced calculus in macho, strident tones as he truly rapped with the kids and got them hip to the numbers biz yo – and she wasn't thinking anything snarky about it. And she could no longer feel the atmosphere of unrestrained boredom and loathing in every Maths class; it was being shut out.

Many senses were being shut out. The world felt grey and soft, but the meat thing continued to scribble down notes. From the outside, it probably looked just like a girl writing.

* * *

Two more days of this. She was lurching to the canteen and it struck her that she missed Beavis and Butt-head.

"Well now I know I've gone mad," she said to herself, standing in the line for lunch. "Don't worry Daria, you probably just miss the easy science experiments. I wish, Daria, I actually want to talk to them. You clearly need help."

Nobody around her had registered her talking to herself – or so she thought, until she heard the sniggering in the background. Joy. No wonder she missed the two idiots, they were at least upfront when being dicks.

Lara, Graham and Cassidy were behind her now, once again having the fascinating discussion of how glad they were to not be studying with the great unwashed.

"…instead of idiots and fools and a quarterback who tells the whole school you shower in a towel."

"Heh heh heh, undercover weiner. It's agent Dong-Oh Seven. License to shoot to thrill. Hur hur hur hur."

It was a few seconds before Daria realised it was her who'd said that.

"I got my gun at ready. Fire at will. Hur." She was aware she was saying that, and making a 'rock-on' gesture and headbanging.

Dimly, she was aware she should _stop_, that people were looking. And she could stop, any time she wanted. And she would. Slow down, ol' meat robot.

"True IQ at last, Morgendorffer?" sneered Graham, a man trying to get the situation back under control.

Daria reconsidered stopping.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Wh-wha-"

"I am the Great Cornholio." She leaned in closer to him. "I need TP for my bunghole."

"..."

"_Are you threatening me?"_

She hadn't meant to actually scream that. She could feel a hundred pairs of eyes staring at her in confused horror, could feel the blush spreading like a rash, and abruptly walked out of the canteen.

"I can't miss them that much. The disciples didn't miss Jesus that much. Why didn't you stop earlier, Daria? Well how should I know? Hey, don't bite my head off—did I just wait for myself to reply that time?"

Once back in her room, she locked the door – now she was safe – and began pacing. There was a clear problem. This needed to be looked at objectively.

Option the first: call parents screaming for help, then puke up intestines and live forever with the shame of disappointing them and wasting their time. Option the second: negate the isolation by finding someone outside she could correspond with. Option the third: go "blblblblblblbblblbbl".

Objectively, option three looked like the crowd favourite.

"Be honest, Daria, if you knew someone you could call or write to you'd already _be_ calling and writing to them. I could call the idiots. No, that would involve finding their number and that would involve writing to them and that would involve them being mentally capable of reading a letter. Okay. That guy I exchanged a few words with back in eighth grade music class, he seemed alright. Yeah, great idea: Dear That Guy, what is your name, regards, Daria. Quinn? No, that's just option one outsourced.

"Maybe Mr Potts from Camp Grizzly, that'd be fun, I could ask him what he was drinking when he came up with the watermelon game. Wait, you're onto something now, Camp Grizzly had people in it you know the names of, contact the camp and they could forward your mail on... On to..."

She tried to think of a single person from the camp she'd willingly talk to.

Crap.

She looked at it from another angle: who from camp would willingly talk to _her_? Better than nothing, at least it'd be a different kind of annoyance. So, people who would willingly want to communicate with her... There was Amelia, and... er...

Crap.

Amelia was it.

_Crap._

She hadn't even liked the girl. She'd just been trying to survive camp and there'd been Amelia, following her around and not saying anything, getting in her personal space but being too shy to do anything – and having nothing interesting to say when Daria, fed up, had started conversation. Engaging in long-distance communication with Amelia...

Was going "blblblblblblblbl" so bad, really?

"Yes. Yes it is and you know it. Crap, you're right. Okay."

She began to write out her letter to Camp Grizzly.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

She was starting to settle into a pattern. Wake up, eat, go to classes, stay in room between classes, stare at the walls and talk to herself, and at some point wake up again without realising she'd gone to sleep at all. It was almost soothing.

Classes were starting to fly by – the outside Daria wrote her notes down and spoke answers without her having to do anything. Hardly needed to think at all.

"…and so the nation-state is basically the result of a cynical, power-driven authoritarian. Fittingly."

Mr Chen, the overly enthusiastic History teacher – every second word cried out "oh help, if the pupils rebel I'll pee myself" – nodded his head off. "Very good, Ms Morgendorffer! Perfect answer."

Daria punched the air. "Daaa, daaaa, dan-_dah-dah_, danananana daaa-nah _dah_."

She hadn't meant to do that.

"I… well, the praise is well-deserved, Ms Morgendorffer!"

Chen hadn't recovered well. He knew she hadn't deliberately decided to celebrate a right answer with the chord from _Iron Man_. He knew she knew he knew, right? Wrong? People had to be noticing.

"Thanks, sir."

The outbursts were getting more frequent. She had to stop.

She wasn't sure she wanted to.

She remembered hearing that nine percent of Grove Hill students had breakdowns, and had to stifle an outburst of guttural chuckling.

Amelia. She needed Amelia. She needed _anyone_.

* * *

"All right – when you look at _this_, what do you see?"

"A herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains."

The school's psychologist just looked at her.

"A black splotch."

"All right." He put the last Rorschach down and picked up another image: silhouettes of two people. "I want you to look at this and make up a story about what you think these people are talking about."

Daria paused for a long time.

"It can be anything, Daria."

Silence.

"All right. We'll try this again next week."

"Okay."

She wondered what would happen if she failed next week too.

* * *

One day (she'd lost track of which day was which) there was a letter for her, the address written in shaky handwriting.

"Dun danana_DUN_ dana-" She forced herself to stop, and fled back to her room.

She opened the envelope as carefully as possible, preserving this artefact, this symbol of the outside world. The letter inside, she noticed, was typed – Amelia must've been too nervous to handwrite it – and there was a small photo inside of Amelia as she was now. A very nervous Amelia trying to smile. Had she taken that specifically for this letter?

"Hur hur hur. She thinks we're cool. Heh heh, she's _right_!" Pause. "Thanks guys, you're writing to me in spirit."

The letter was oddly stilted, the work of someone trying hard not to gush. Amelia, it turned out, hadn't expected to ever see her again and had always wondered why she'd never come back to Camp Grizzly. ("Because it's there," Daria said out loud.) It turned out they still played that godawful watermelon game ("Ah, a grand old tradition. Like racism.") and Skip was still inflicting a reign of aggressive jolliness on campers ("the camp songs will continue until morale improves").

Amelia hadn't put it quite like that though. _She'd_ put: "Skip's still Skip." And mentioned "I have wished I didn't have to go along with him". And then reminisced "remember that time you walked off halfway through the Colour War?".

And Daria did remember, quite clearly. She'd been bored and fed up. She also remembered Amelia had _stayed_. Amelia had always stayed. Whenever possible, she'd followed her around, but whenever there was a camp activity that Daria walked from she stayed behind.

"I have wished I didn't have to go along with him."

"Then don't," said Daria, feeling a bit angry. "The only thing that ever happened to me was getting told off, and after a while they stopped _caring_. What do you think would've happened if you stopped following Skip? He's not going to leave a greased watermelon in your bed as a warning.

"Hur hur hur. I said _greased_.

"Oh damn it. I'm arguing with a letter."

Amelia talked a lot about Camp Grizzly, but only gave a few sentences over to what she was doing _now_. Daria knew she went to Gorbals High, that "it's not that fun", and her brother was now in the National Guard (and that Amelia had a brother). There wasn't much about class, or friends.

Amelia had missed someone she'd met for a month two years ago. She was nervous about writing to her, and seemed to know nobody else. That was...

It _would have been_ something that'd give Daria pause, but _she'd_ written to _Amelia_. The letter screamed "I am clingy and needy, run away" but where else was there to run?

"Okay, fine, I'm not sending you a photo though. I don't want animals sacrificed at my altar."

* * *

Amelia,

Nice to hear from you too. Your letter came in time to stop me hanging myself with my own small intestine.

As you know, I'm now at Grove Hills. It makes me nostalgic for Camp Grizzly. Remember Tracy, the Queen Bee of Turd Hive? Imagine there's five hundred Tracy's and they actually possess a brain, and have decided to turn on anyone who doesn't have the latest model of brain with this season's lobes. I've heard some of my fellow inmates advocate eugenics (they think it's them who'll be the ones breeding, which will require everyone else to become deaf and blind).

The classes are a challenge, especially when you have to be in the same room as the teachers. I like the social studies teacher though, who tries to teach issues of ethics to a school of sociopaths; he smells of nicotine and sounds like he's given up on the students, his job, and life. He's my hero.

I can't complain too much. I only have one sheet of paper.

How's your own school life?

Yours faithfully,

Daria

* * *

Dear Daria,

I wasn't expecting to hear back from you so soon! Your letter was a riot, you were always so funny.

I'm sorry to hear about Grove Hills. I've heard of its reputation, it seemed perfect. Maybe everyone's jealous of you? You were always pretty smart.

There's not much to say about Gorbals High. Some of the people here are pretty mean, I try to stay out of their way. There's one group they call the Gang of Four, they're pretty popular but they're not super-popular, you know? They get pretty vicious.

I found a photo at home from Camp Grizzly, with the two of us in it at the end of camp. I don't think you had any photos from camp, so I had this copy made. You look how I felt about the place!

Love,

Amelia

* * *

Amelia,

Thank you for the photo. When things get bad, I can remind myself "at least nobody here's going to make me sing".

There are some simple pack dynamics going on with your Gang of Four. They're people above them, and there are people below them who want to take their place – they're monkeys looking up to see nothing but assholes, and looking down to see bared teeth coming for their hindquarters. (I just made myself feel sick) They want to secure their position and release their tension by kicking downwards. There are people like that here – I comfort myself by thinking how their lives are consumed by panic and fear every second of every day. Especially in the showers.

Anything else to tell about Gorbals?

Yours faithfully, Daria

* * *

"Okay now, Daria – let's hear nothing more about ponies this week. What are the two people talking about?"

"That taller one… that taller one is asking the smaller one how things are going, and the smaller one is trying to dodge the question while telling her how smart and cool she thinks she is. And the taller one replies 'no, no, we're talking about you now' and the smaller one says 'oh nothing to say, but hey, remember that time two years ago? Let's talk about that' and the taller one is screaming 'for God's sake, you were my last resort but _try_ to have the courage to _say_ something about _yourself_, you can't hide that you're afraid people won't like you if they know you and that means the assholes out there see you as an easy target, and I am sick of—'"

Daria realised, too late, that this was the wrong thing to be saying. Mid-sentence, her mind shut down.

"'-so, like, let's talk about something cool.' 'Heh heh! Salt poured on a slug! Heh heh heheh!' 'Hur hur, that's _cool_, hur hur hur!' 'Hey, you think you could, like, pour slugs on salt? Heh heh! Maybe it'd, like, _explode_ or something!' 'Hur hur hur hur!'."

Her mouth clamped shut, blind instinct realising this was no better.

"I… I see, Daria. I think that settles things for this week."

He was going to write a report. They'd be watching her.

"Okay. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel."

Time was running out.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Dear Daria,

There's not much I can say about Gorbals. It's pretty modern, the principal is obsessed with funding, a lot of people are jerks… Nothing to say. Why do you ask?

I hadn't thought about the Gang that way before – I liked the monkeys analogy! – but it makes sense. It's pretty depressing to know though. If they're jerks out of fear and they're never going to escape it, that's pretty sad.

Do you have a recent photo of yourself? I'm wondering how you look after two years. (Do they make you wear uniforms at Grove Hills?)

Love,

Amelia

* * *

Amelia

While I never get tired of bitching about Grove Hills, I'd like to hear you bitching about your school sometime. You don't say much about yourself, that makes it hard to keep writing letters – I need a topic of conversation. You can open up to me, I'm not going to tell anyone anything.

Yours faithfully,

Daria

After sen

* * *

ding the letter, Daria wished she hadn't. She wished she'd been less abrupt, tried to hide the message among other paragraphs – and then she hated herself for wanting to avoid being honest. Standards should be upheld. Even at the cost of...

She went to class as always, but noticed too late that she wasn't taking the same level of notes as before.

In maths class, she noticed she wasn't taking notes at all. She'd been writing random words and phrases. Despite herself, she smiled to see "All work and no play make Jack a dull boy" was down there; _something_ of her was still active, they hadn't burnt it all out.

Graham was looking at her. He'd seen the notes.

She wrote "Hi Graham!" and a smiley face down, causing him to physically recoil and fall off his seat. The whole class turned to look.

"Mr Laymon, what is the meaning of this disruption?" barked Dickhead.

Daria cut in before Graham could. "He's been looking at my notes and I caught him."

"She's gone mental, sir! The notes are full of random gibberish!"

"Of course. How else can I stop people from cheating off my notes?"

Everyone paused at that one.

"I…" The teacher thought that one over. "But then… you'd have no notes-"

"I write them down after class. Safest way."

"Oh. Fair enough then. Alright class, enough of the break – you rest when you're DEAD! We're back into the maths zone, double-time!"

_And when the bell rings, everyone can flee it in quadruple time._

This was a brief respite. Eventually, Dickhead's brain cells would kick in and he'd realise her answers made no sense.

She noticed she was writing "dead = rest" over and over. She forced herself to stop.

* * *

On her way back to her room, Daria noticed the school psychologist was pointing her out to the guards.

"Yes, I do love Big Brother. Yes, I have accepted Jesus into myself. Why yes, I do think your penis is big when I look at your nightsticks."

The guards rarely did anything, but everyone knew they were meant to 'handle' the nine percent of students who found the school too much pressure (i.e. threw off their clothes and ran around yelling "BLBLBLBLBLBL!"). It was the ugly side of – the _uglier_ side of the school, that breakdowns kept happening and had to be quietly sorted.

And now they were watching her.

She had to be careful.

Almost in a dream, she found herself waving at them and going "_ooowhawow wowowowaaawow DUN-DUN! ooowhawow wowowowaaawow DUN-DUN!_"

Adding "that means you've been Thunderstruck. AC/DC said so, and who are we to argue?" did not help.

What was she doing? Did she _want _to crack? Did she want to be dragged away to the padded rooms and the peaceful oblivion? Well, did she?

Maybe she did.

_Amelia. Help._

* * *

The next day, there was a letter for her. Amelia's handwriting again. She knew she'd yelled something stupid when she'd seen it but she didn't care.

Amelia's letter was longer this time. The sentence structure was messier.

She was apologising, and now... well, now Daria wished she hadn't demanded she open up. She'd opened up, all right.

"...just can't stand the place anymore. I don't have any friends there and I'm too scared to draw attention to myself, or cross the herd. When people pick on me I find myself laughing, because I'm scared I'll get it worse if I object..."

Well, now she knew why Amelia had been so eager. And why she so rarely said anything at camp. And far, far more than she'd wanted to know.

"...so glad you wrote to me, it's nice to have a friend somewhere. I wish you went to Gorbals, nobody would dare mess with you!"

"Be honest," she said to herself, "if you let everything out to Amelia, would it be much different? Well, yeah, she cares how she's seen and I want to be left alone. But not completely alone, it turns out. Look, I'm still not convinced I miss Quinn emotionally and not just because she's a fun target, it _is_ Quinn. You're dodging the issue. Well duh.

"So what are you going to write back to her?"

Crap.

What the hell _could_ you write after an outpouring like that? It was beyond her. You might as well ask a caveman about nuclear fission. Deep down, Daria wanted to bark "stand up for yourself! Stop caring about them!", but Amelia would've heard that one before. Don't bring it up at all? God no, there was only one way the girl would take that.

"Whoa, this, like, totally sucks! Yeah, this blows. It... it sucks and blows – for a nickel! Hur hur hur, that was cool!"

She clamped down on the outbursts, but they lurked beneath the surface. The situation was getting too much to be faced. Everything was too much.

In the final analysis, was there anything Daria had that could possibly be of any use?

* * *

Amelia,

Your letter makes me very sorry you're not friends with anyone at Gorbals. Similarly, I'm sorry that CDC officials in hazmat suits can't contract Ebola. (This is a bad analogy, as diseases play an important part in the ecosystem. Your fellow students just prove that God doesn't exist but Satan does.)

In all honesty, if you could be friends with people like that, there'd be something seriously wrong with you. If I wrote to you then, it would be to send letter bombs.

In the interests of objectivity, I should admit that at Highland I hung out with two morlocks who were entertained by sticking firecrackers into frog rectums. I therefore know a better class of people than your classmates, and you should listen to me.

Yours sincerely,

Daria

* * *

When there was no reply for two day after, Daria shrank back into herself. Sarcasm had been all she had.

The day passed in a haze. She was dimly aware of classes and other students and that, at times, she'd made outbursts. She was aware, in the corner of her eyes, the security guards were watching. It wouldn't be long. The wrong outburst at the wrong time, she was done.

Knowing that, the urge came to simply stand up in Maths class and go "hey, Dickhead! Everyone calls you Dickhead! Hur hur hur heh heh!" and be done with it all.

_Go on. Dare you. Heh heh._

On the way out of History (hadn't she been in Maths just a moment ago?), she found Cassidy sneering at her: "And if we needed an example of who'd have supported Castro, here comes Morgendorffer now!"

_That was a joke?_

"That was a joke?"

Cassidy ignored her, so Daria made sure to roar _"FROOOGGGG BASEBAAAAALL!"_. The other girl fell over in an attempt to duck, and looked up in terror as Daria just stood there smiling.

"I could have resisted, I just didn't want to."

That decided it. Enough of this crap. The outbursts were all she had – no friends, no family, no books, no letters, no respite. Beavis and Butthead always looked happy, right?

She was going to do it. On Friday, Maths was the last subject. She'd do it then. Mess up the weekend for everyone. The grand last stand of Daria Morgendorffer.

Under her breath, she was humming Be Quick or Be Dead.

* * *

On Friday morning, there was a letter.

Amelia's brother was going to be in the county this weekend. She wanted to hitch up with him and visit Daria.

There was a phone number Daria could call to confirm it in case the letter arrived late.

"Daaa, daaaa, dan-_dah-dah_, danananana daaa-nah _dah_."


	4. Chapter 4

(Amelia having an older, suspicious-of-Daria brother was 'inspired' by The Angst Guy's fanfic Prisoner of Hope: theangstguy com (slash) fanfics (slash) prisonerofhope htm

4.

Amelia's brother had picked up the phone – he sounded wary of her, but confirmed he'd drop his sister off.

She was going to meet Amelia tomorrow. She was going to meet _someone_. A friendly face, someone from the Outside World, a reason to not give in to a nervous breakdown.

Except she hadn't liked Amelia before and she wasn't sure if she did now. She _pitied_ Amelia, true, but liked? Would it be possible? Could she fake it at least? Did she really want to exploit a well-meaning, lonely girl to – okay, yes, that _was_ what she wanted, but she wasn't comfortable with it. She failed her own standards.

What if Amelia picked that up? What if she made outbursts in front of her, how would Amelia respond? What if this didn't work?

What if it _did?_

Which class was she in now, anyway, and what time was it? Hadn't it been 10 AM just a moment ago?

Don't outburst, Daria. Don't even think about it.

Which class was she in _now_?

* * *

That night, consumed with nerves, she threw up into her dustbin. (This wasn't so bad, she reflected, because what else was she going to do with the school dinners?)

"Stay calm, Daria. Just think: what would Dad do? Work it out, and then do the complete opposite.

"It will all be fine. You can do this. You can get through.

"You got to watch them, be quick or be de- _you can do this_."

She dreamt fitfully of being back in Highland, in her old clothes, setting fire to insects and giggling over the stupidest crap with the only two people who she would ever really be able to talk to. She was casting aside intelligence and standards and a future, embracing the oblivion.

* * *

Saturday morning. The last day.

She somehow managed to keep breakfast down. ("I _knew_ this bread was made of paste.")

Her visitors could only get in once she'd gone to reception and confirmed they were legit. They'd be allowed in the grounds but not into the school buildings, that was for Special Occasions. And nearby, she knew – the suspicious look the receptionist gave her spoke volumes – the security guards would be waiting in case they had to take her away (ha ha), take her away (ho ho hee hee).

_Did I really just think that? Yes I did. Ah, thanks. No problem. _

"You're legally responsible for any damage or disruption your visitors' cause."

Daria nodded at the receptionist. "Don't worry; I hear some of the lower classes are capable of basic literacy and cutlery usage."

She stepped outside the school building, feeling a little light-headed as she realised this had been the first time in weeks she _had_ stepped outside. There hadn't been anywhere to go, she hadn't seen the point. For prison grounds, though, the greenery looked quite nice.

Every step took her towards the somewhat battered Oldsmobile parked near the main gate. And the two people there.

She suddenly wanted to turn around and go back to her room and never write to Amelia again and stick with the breakdown.

She walked on.

Amelia was waving at her, smiling nervously. She looked just like her photo. Her brother was next to her, looking friendly enough, a tall ripped guy dressed in black everything and with black dyed hair and black... make-up?

Daria looked at him again as she came nearer, and found herself saying: "I'm sorry. Who died?"

The man looked less friendly now, though Amelia was stifling a giggle.

"I'm going to Alternapalooza," he said.

"I see," said Daria, who didn't.

He turned to his sister. "Operation 'The Hills Have Four-Eyes' complete – reorganising for primary objective. ETA of pick-up, 0900!"

"See you, Rob."

Daria watched him head back to his car, blinking. "I know I understood the individual words..."

"He's gone up in rank in the Guard, he's been like this all week." Amelia suddenly appeared to shrink, and clasped her hands behind her back and looked downwards; she had just realised she was talking to someone. "I, I guess it's a bit silly, but he said he'd give me a lift and, well..."

"Alternapalooza?"

"It's a big concert in August, he's been every year." Her eyes widened and she hurriedly added: "I know it's not August now! Erm, they, um, they moved the date forward from the summer this year. I dunno why."

Reluctantly, Daria asked the last obvious question. "So if he's not staying with you, you're staying..."

"There's a motel near here, I'm staying overnight."

Now she had to _think_ of a conversation. And one came, one she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to.

"You came all this way and you're staying here just for a few hours with me?"

"Um."

Daria realised that sounded bad, and quickly switched to a safer topic. "I'd take you inside, but they only allow visitors in on certain days. They need to have time to round up the undesirables so the foreign dignitaries can't see them."

She smiled. "They let you out."

"I escaped. Soon, they'll found the rope ladder I made out of my underwear. Hur hur hur panties-"

She clasped her hands over her mouth, horrified. Amelia showed a brief glimpse of confusion before covering it up.

"Bet you wish you could've done that at camp! Hey, remember that time you rode off on the horse and left us all behind?"

"You mean the time the horse rode off with me on it and threw me off? I needed nine stitches."

"Oh."

There was silence over that. Daria had allowed her annoyance to show – she felt guilty that she didn't feel guilty over that (did Amelia not remember the stitches?).

"I, erm..." Amelia fidgeted. "I always thought you'd done it deliberately."

"Nine stitches."

"Well, yeah, but I thought you got them from..." She trailed off, before looking around the grounds desperately. "It looks pretty nice here!"

"I haven't been here in weeks. There's nothing to do."

"Oh."

It was going badly. She knew it was going badly. She didn't know how to stop it.

Desperate herself, she pointed at Rob's car. "He's still here?"

"Yeah, he's checking the map to Alternapalooza. He's got a thing about not getting lost, it..."

She bit her lip. _Now_ Daria felt guilty.

"Look, Amelia, I..." Yes, good start, now what? "I..." Don't do an outburst, not now. "I haven't talked to anyone in a long time. Except for insulting people, but that's just a bit of fun. I'm not trying to insult _you_."

"I know."

"No you don't. You were about to apologise for being boring or being stupid or having a name that starts with the letter 'a', apologise for _something_ anyway."

"Erm, well, erm..." She took a deep breath. "Erm, yeah."

"I'm really sorry," she said, and was surprised to realise she meant it. "I'm not what you needed, I realise that. You need a friend and I'm... Well, I kind of suck."

Silence.

A long, lengthy, awkward silence.

Daria wasn't inside the school building, but she felt it. Grove Hills was Grove Hills: pressing down on her, stripping away all she had and all she thought she was, a dark force cutting her off from everything. Grove Hills didn't want her to be capable of talking to Amelia. Grove Hills wanted her to have that breakdown.

Grove Hills was whispering at her to turn around and give in.

Or had she already given in?

"You're just having a bad day, right?"

Amelia was still talking. That honestly surprised her.

"You're usually – I say usually, I know we haven't seen each other much, but at camp and in the letters you always had this, this _aura_. Confidence or – no, _assuredness_. You knew who you were and what you wanted, you marched to your own drum whatever happened. That..." Amelia looked away again. "You were kinda my role model. You did everything I wanted to do. That last letter? That... that really helped, Daria. I, I, I know this isn't working and, and I'm sorry I can't get it to work, but it really helped to see you explain things like that."

Amelia was starting to cry.

In Daria's head, something went 'crack'.

"Amelia?" There was something important, something she needed help to grasp. "If we were at Camp Grizzly and there was something going on that I hated, and then there was a way to get out of it, a way that'd get me into trouble but would still allow me to get out of this thing... What would I have done?"

The girl blinked. "What? Oh, erm... You normally just left, right?"

"You're right. I did."

She glanced over, and saw Rob had finished with his map.

"Amelia, would you rather go to Alternapalooza than stay here?" She took one look at Amelia's face and said: "Sorry, let me rephrase that. If we could've met at Alternapalooza, would you rather that than meeting here?"

"Oh! Well, I've never really gone to a rock festival before, I-"

"Would you like to?"

She nodded mutely.

"Let's go there _now_. Get your brother to wait."

Blink. "Why wait?"

"I have something to take care of first."

* * *

Her heart was beating like there was no tomorrow and she felt like throwing up again, but still she grabbed everything that was hers and shoved it into the suitcase she'd had since she moved in. She'd made her decision. She was sticking to it. She was thinking outside the box and achieving a paradigm shift, or at least that's what she was going to say if a teacher saw her.

She took one last look at her room, her living space for over two months.

"I never cleaned up that vomit. _Good_."

She ran as fast as a physically unfit teenage girl with a heavy suitcase could run, knowing at any minute she could be spotted. And just before she got out the building, the guards noticed her.

Instinct took over, forcing her legs to go faster, screaming "I AM CORNHOLIO!" at the sky as she went and trying not to trip over. Behind her, the security guards were starting to jog. Ahead of her, the Oldsmobile had started, the trunk was open, and the gates to Grove Hills were blessedly open.

She hurled her suitcase into the trunk (well, onto the ground next to it and then she had to pick it up and put it in). Mad, terrified eyes looked at Rob pleadingly.

"We can go now?"

"Yeahhh…" He looked at the guards, then at Amelia. Then at Daria, a clear 'I don't trust you near my sister' message in his eyes. Then at Amelia again. "Hop in."

"Thank you."

The gates were starting to swing shut as the car drove off – the guards must've called it in – but too slow, too blessedly slow to stop it from driving through. Rob accelerated once they were through, giving a yell of "DUSTOFF!" as the car went.

Daria, sitting in the back, turned to watch the school recede. It looked big and imposing, but soon began to shrank and became just another building.

She was out.

"Do any of you know Black Sabbath's Iron Man?"

"Yeah"/"Affirmative"

Daria raised a triumphant fist. "Daaa, daaaa…

"Dan-_dah-dah_," chorused Amelia.

The car sped on to Alternapalooza, a roar of "danananana daaa-nah _dah_!" trailing in its wake.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

The first hour of the trip, Daria had closed her eyes and caught up on some much-needed sleep.

Then she noticed the soothing sensation of a car in motion had gone. And, y'know, all the damn horns going off everywhere.

"Either someone flashed a 'Honk If You're A Jerk' sign, or there's a traffic jam."

"It's a traffic jam," replied Amelia.

Daria opened her eyes and looked out at the biggest gridlock she ever did see.

After a few minutes, Rob mentioned "This is like that REM video, except we can't see what everyone's thinking."

Amelia went a bright, embarrassed red.

"Can we trade thoughts?" asked Daria. "All I'm thinking is 'if Jack Kerouac could've seen this, he'd have stayed home and written On The Couch'."

"I never read that."

"I read it when I was thirteen. The hero's grand journey ends with his idol abandoning him when he's sick and hallucinating. That part spoke to me; Grandma had just given a make-up kit for my birthday."

"Oh, yeah, I-" Amelia glanced at her brother, judged it safe, and said quietly "I got that too. Mum gave me it, gave me this speech about how I'd be a beautiful young thing if I just tried... I tried it for a few weeks just to keep her happy."

"I sold mine to my sister for thirty bucks. She got fleeced, I'd have settled for five."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"Hmm." Daria paused, unsure of how to tread. "I... I didn't really feel that confident at Grove Hills."

The girl stared at her in shock. "But... but you're- You just stood up and left to go somewhere else! Just two hours ago!"

"Yes, and..." She was blushing slightly, and knew she had to come out and say it. "To be honest, if you hadn't been there... Um... Well, it helped. You reminded me there was a way out."

"Oh."

Amelia stayed quiet for the rest of the traffic jam.

* * *

"Okay. I'm going to the picnic and I'm bringing Air Force One, books..." Daria thought her choice through. "...and carcinogenic substances."

After a few more choices like that, Rob deliberately lost the game.

* * *

Crisis erupted, fast and terrible, and Amelia's attempts to hold it back had only made it worse.

"I'm using those bushes next!" yelled Daria as the girl scurried off. She saw Rob's expression. "No, really. Saves another stop later on – 'work smarter, not harder' as Mum used to say before she noticed Quinn was doing neither."

"I don't trust you," he said abruptly. "I don't know what your game is, but Amelia's had enough grief in her life."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"She's got no real friends for years, terrified of her school – but then your letters turn up, and suddenly she's all 'Daria said this, Daria said that, hey look what Daria thinks'. She was like that after she met you at camp too. And y'know, as far as I could tell you were just an asshole. You never thought much of her and you were only starting up contact because you wanted something."

She wanted to roar back with sound and fury, she wanted to unleash her moral outrage on this bastard who was daring to talk about her like that. She wanted to be unaware that he was telling an uncomfortable truth. Oh, she wanted to.

"I tried to get her to come to Alternapalooza and just let her hair down and have some fun, and she never had the guts. Suddenly, she wants to because Daria wants to. Well, she says she wants to but does she? Or is she just desperate to follow you? Do _you_ know? Do you _care_?"

Deep within, her mind began to sound the retreat. Deep within, the laughing idiot thing began to rise up.

"Let's cut to the chase here, alright? Answer me this, tell me the truth:"

No she was out she was free she couldn't outburst she'd beaten it she had to stay firm she had to stay firm she wanted to be anywhere else she couldn't handle this

"Did you _actually like_ Amelia at Camp Grizzly?"

"Are you threaten-" She shoved her fingers into her mouth and bit down, trapping the outburst before it could fully escape, driving it back into her guts. Her nostrils flared, sucking in oxygen to push her mind back to the forefront. She tried not to look at Rob's expression.

Honest. She'd always tried to be honest. No matter the situation.

"No. I didn't."

"I see."

"I contacted her because I was desperate and would have written to anyone."

"And what are you getting from her now?"

"She saved my life."

He hadn't expected _that_.

"I told her she helped give me my confidence. That was a lot for her to handle. I don't think she could handle knowing that I was on the verge of a breakdown and she was the only thing stopping me from diving into the abyss. But she was.

"I got irritated with her and I thought I was slumming it when I started writing, but she was better than I knew. She's better than _she_ knows. She is certainly better than me."

Amelia came back after this, blushing furiously, too caught in embarrassment to pick up on the mood.

"Back! Erm, your turn Daria."

"Hope you left the seat down," she said, her face back to an impassive mask.

When Daria came back from her visit to the bushes, Amelia called out "doesn't it just make you feel nostalgic for Camp Grizzly?"

She blinked. "_Good_ one. Amelia, we'll make a curmudgeon of you yet!"


	6. Chapter 6

6.

As they came up to the broken-down black van on the side of the road, Rob stared in shock and went: "Oh my god. _It's the A-Team_."

"I don't know," said Daria, taking a closer look at the filthy machine. "I'm not sure it's _meant_ to be black…"

By the van, two young men – a lanky, sleepy faced man with an attempt at a beard and a blank-eyed long-haired youth with a leather vest and no other top; the very thing you'd imagine if you heard the word "slacker" or "student band" – were looking at their engine in dismay.

"Looks like they need a hand." Rob pulled over to park.

"And it looks like that one needs a shirt," said Daria.

He got out of the car, retrieving a toolkit from the car boot and calling to the grateful rockers. Daria took a brief glance at Amelia; the girl looked back. A brief second of hesitation, and then Amelia spoke.

"Want to get out and write 'Clean Me' on their back window?"

"Oh yes."

The plan hit a slight snag when the girls got out and could see the van drivers more clearly. The lanky, lazy one looked a lot more… impressive up close, and when he spoke to Rob he had a husky voice that caused Daria to spontaneously blush.

"Amelia? Help."

She physically guided the girl away and around to the back of the van, and then hit the second snag: a previously unseen third stranger, a black haired girl in a short-cut red jacket who was pretending to shoot passing cars with a glue gun.

She gave the girls a lazy wave. "Yo."

Amelia blushed. "Um."

"What did you come back here for?"

"Um." She started to fidget. "No reason."

"We were going to write 'Clean Me' on the back of your van," said Daria.

"Fighting a losing battle _there_, amiga." She patted the vehicle proudly. "_No one_ cleans the Tank. It can't be done."

"I suppose that's good. If you cleaned it, it would lose all its character."

"It loses everything else. I'm not entirely sure, but we may have broken down because the engine fell out. Has to happen some day!"

"Don't be absurd. Your engine will explode and kill you all in fiery agony long before that happens."

The girl smirked. "Oh, promises, promises. I got a Maths test on Monday, that explosion would be pretty handy."

"What if you rig the Tank to explode in the school? No test. No school. No downside."

"Trent – that's my brother, the one who knows shirts exist – Trent and his band need the van to get around. Otherwise they'd need to walk to gigs. That'd count as _exercise_."

"I was going to ask if his band was any good, but since they're driving in the Biohazard-mobile…"

"They're better than the Spice Girls."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"Don't make me choose between family and truth. Truth will win, and I'll be made to walk home." She held out a hand. "Jane."

She shook it. "Daria."

"And you?"

"Amelia," she said quietly, shaking Jane's hand.

"So Amelia, you know why they call this thing the Tank?"

"Er, no. Why?"

"Crap. I was hoping someone would. I _think_ it's because the band's drummer had to get tanked up before he thought buying it was a good idea."

"My brother thinks it looks like the A-Team truck."

"What do you think?"

Amelia fidgeted some more before, hesitantly, saying "it looks like something that _begins_ with 'A'…"

"Ooo. That's _rude_," said Jane, smiling. "You two wanna go see if the boys have got it fixed yet?"

"Hoping to escape me already?" asked Daria. "I don't blame you."

Her voice was light, calm. Under the surface, she was horrified. Jane was an interesting girl, someone laconic and possessing a sharp, sardonic sense of humour; she was someone Daria felt instantly comfortable talking to. The conversation had been effortless, an experience she'd never had before. It had been fun. It had been wonderful.

And until Jane reminded her, she'd completely forgotten Amelia had been standing there.

She felt sick.

* * *

The Tank spluttered, whined, cried, and coughed its way back to life. The men cheered.

"National Guard field mechanics training!" Rob raised a 'rock' gesture to the sky. "Always Ready, Always There!"

"Cool," replied Trent. A second later, he noticed the girls. "Hey. You weren't there before."

Daria felt her mouth dry up as he looked at her. (_'Oh god, no. This is embarrassing.'_)

"We're, er, with him."

"Oh. Going to Alternapalooza too?"

"Yeah."

"You're a bit overdressed for it. It looks like you just ran away from school to go."

"I did."

He smiled. "Cool."

"Hey, I'll look out for y'all at the concert," said Jane. "I can indulge my sarcasm with two people understanding me at last!"

"A childhood dream for the ages."

"Nah, my childhood dream involved ponies. Ponies that turned into giant robots. It was _awesome_."

"I dreamt I was an only child, and when I woke up that dream caused nothing but pain."

"I am so going to think of a line to top that for when we get there." Jane headed off to the Tank, waving as she went. "Have fun, Daria and Amelia! And if you need help, maybe you too can hire the A… yeah, never mind."

She'd done it again. She'd been talking to Jane and forgotten to include Amelia - forgotten _Amelia._ And a brief glance showed that Amelia, while trying to hide it, had noticed.

That was not what the girl deserved.

Was _this_ what she was, deep down? Was this really what she was going to do to people who helped her? All her morals, all her standards, all her condemnation of the idiots and jerks and bastards around her, was she going to do this to someone who had gone out of their way for her?

Back in Rob's car, she tried to think of something to say to Amelia to fix things.

She couldn't.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Alternapalooza was guarded by an impromptu car park, large and varied enough to look like the car version of the elephant's graveyard. Beyond it lay a hodgepodge of tents and stalls and large stages where bands Daria had never heard of where blazing away. There was a smell of cooking food, sweat, mud, alcohol, and toilets.

"Okay, I'll admit it: I'm impressed."

Amelia and Rob jumped, startled by the sudden noise in their midst. It'd been half an hour since anybody had talked.

"Um…" Daria looked out the window to find something, anything to keep the conversation going. "I've got this feeling I'm going to stand out here. Can I borrow some of your hair dye, Rob?"

"No."

Things were going badly. They continued to go badly as the trio walked into the concert, right past the hordes of pierced rockers and alternative fans (alters?) who were having a blast, all love and laughter and life. Everything Daria was destroying was on display, a joke at her expense.

She wondered, against her will, if she would soon view Grove Hills with nostalgia. There, she had Amelia to write to; there was an escape. Where was she supposed to go when she'd pissed on that escape? (Jane? Who was Jane? How long would it last before she drove Jane away t-)

She forced her jaw to stay shut, outbursts and screams and cackles being forced back down her throat. She couldn't afford it, not now.

Jane and her party found them quickly – had they been waiting? – and everyone was spared the awkward silence. Rob and Trent high-fived each other on sight and Jane quickly offered for the girls to go do their own thing so the guys could hang.

"That five by five, sis?" asked Rob, glancing briefly (and suspiciously) at Daria as he talked.

Amelia said nothing, just nodded. She then blushed furiously when Jane put a matey hand on her shoulder.

"She'll be fine, we'll talk about make-up and cute guys and ponies. Feel free to drink and be manly!"

The guys headed off, with Trent's friend Jesse saying "whoa, when did Jane get into ponies?" as they went. The girl in question shook her head.

"And you can see why I wanted to hang with you two instead."

"So it wasn't my feminine wiles and ample bosom?" deadpanned Daria. "Well now I'm disillusioned. I can't trust anything any more."

"What is a wile anyway?"

"A stratagem intended to deceive. Feminine wiles include seduction and subtle manipulations. Masculine wiles are pointing at the sky and yelling 'look at that interesting thing up there!'."

"Wait until the drugs really start to circulate here, then that'd _work._ Except on Trent and Jesse, looking up requires movement. How about your brother?"

"I don't have-"

And then she realised Jane had addressed that question to Amelia. She'd forgotten Amelia again, after all the angst she'd forgotten her _as soon as conversation started_. And she'd shown it in public.

In front of Jane.

In front of _Amelia_.

There was no hiding it, she'd blown it again, she couldn't ever get things right not ever ever ever

"Heh heh, you think we can score some of those drugs? We could, heh heh, see if we can pee when high! Hur hur hur, I bet it, y'know, goes the wrong way or something, that'd be cool, hur hur hur hur."

Stop it they're staring stop it

"Whoa, check out the piercings on that dude! That's cool! Hur hur, you think if we pulled them out, he'd, like, spray everywhere and shrink? All the air coming out would be like his whole body was farting! Heh heh heh hur hur hur hur"

She was aware Jane was talking to her and that she was worried, but she could not hear what the girl was saying. And she was all too aware of the frightened look on Amelia's face, because it wasn't enough to leave her upset and lonely, she had to be frightening her too, of course she did –

Daria held back the outbursts, a hand pressed against a tidal wave, and tried to talk. Her mouth hung open for ten seconds and she felt like she was being throttled, but she managed to whisper a few words out in the end.

"I'm sorry. Amelia, I'm so sorry. I-"

She tried to run but tripped over her own feet and fell over. The ground hit hard and the tidal wave rolled forwards.

"Heh heh heh, dork! Hur, dude, look how muddy it is here, it rocks man! Hur hur heh heh!"

She continued on, watching herself on the inside like a ghost.

* * *

The outbursts had lasted three minutes. It had felt longer.

Jane was here but Amelia had gone.

"She's getting herself some lunch," said Jane. "I told her to get some, she needed the break."

Daria looked down at the mud stains on her jacket and skirt, not saying a word.

"You hadn't told her you had weird outbursts when you were nervous, did you."

She shook her head.

"And I'm betting you got set off when you realised you weren't including her, right? Got freaked out that you were doing it?"

Nod.

"I'm good at reading people. Well, sometimes. Thing is, your amiga _isn't_ so _she_ thinks it's _her_ that's setting you off. She also thought you were going insane and couldn't be cured." She took one look at Daria's expression and grabbed her. "Hey, stay with me. We don't want a repeat."

"I've really messed things up."

"Kinda. But if you realise that, you can fix things, right? The answer to that is 'yes', by the way."

"_How?_"

"Well, you say to Amelia 'sorry' and then tell her what's really going on. I hear that's how it's normally done."

"Hey, Amelia, it's not you causing the outbursts, it's that weeks of isolation and unending misery caused me so much mental damage that I automatically retreat into idiocy – idiocy based on two dumbasses who were the closest thing I ever had to friends, who couldn't even remember my damn name – rather than face difficult or painful situations, and I thought running away from school would stop it but it hasn't _and I am permanently damaged goods_!"

Jane was quiet for a second, then tried to smile. "It's a start, could do with a redraft. Few more pauses for breath so you don't fall over."

"I can't say that to her. I _can't_."

"Afraid she'll reject you? She's your friend."

"I..." Daria took a deep breath. "I don't know if I'm _her_ friend."

"Ah." She shrugged. "If it helps, _I_ like you. You're funny, you're on my wavelength, and you're getting upset when you realise you've wronged someone. And because I like you, I can give some advice for the incredible low price of buying me an Ultra Cola. Ready?"

Nod, nervously.

"Say sorry to her, give her the same explanation you gave me, actively work to keep her in conversations, and... one other thing..." She waved her arm, sweeping in the whole festival. "Remember where you are and _rock out_! Same goes for Amelia. I can teach you, young Jedis, my brother raised me on MTV."

"He can't have. You can string sentences together."

Smile. "See? Climbing outta the funk already. Now come on, let's find our friend."


	8. Chapter 8

8.

"I didn't know there was this much ink and metal in all the world until I came here."

"It's a stunning exhibit of a generation and a zeitgeist."

"I see that guy's arm is proclaiming his love for his dear old 'Mim'."

"I wish we had some magnets. You wish we had some magnets?"

"What's that band I can hear?"

"I dunno, but for ten bucks I can cover your ears."

Daria was glad she'd run off to Alternapalooza. It really was looking to be great fun.

First off, they had to track down Amelia. Finding a girl in a conservative blue dress among a sea of skimpy black? Not too difficult, it turned out.

There were four guys around her as they approached: individually, they were just random guys in black and more black and with the odd piercing. They would not be threatening on their own. As a group, they were closer to Amelia than you'd have thought she'd want, stood around as if fencing her off, and giving the impression of looming without being tall enough to do so.

As a group, they screamed "threat". Daria stiffened.

Jane yelled: "_Hey! Amelia!_ _Over here, don't wanna miss the next performance!_" Her tone and face were light, friendly. Her face still friendly, she muttered to Daria "If she doesn't come to us, we go over there, but I'm hoping this throws 'em."

Amelia peeled off from the guys and walked fast towards the girls, waving and looking relieved. "I've eaten, but I didn't know if I should come back to you or let you come to me or what. What performance?"

"Hey, it's a festival, there's tons of 'em. Who wants to choose this early, amiright?…"

Jane had her eyes on Amelia, leaving Daria to watch the four men. They seemed amused but weren't coming after. That was convenient.

"Yes, let's innocently go to a performance in a non-threatened manner. Your choice of band, Amelia."

"Oh." She was still smiling, but seemed a bit surprised. "Thanks, Daria."

The three headed off. As soon as they had their backs to the male group, one of the men yelled "DYKES!".

"Our future voters, ladies and gentlemen," she muttered, trying to ignore the men's laughing from behind them.

When there was no reply, she glanced at Amelia. The girl was shaking, pale. Jane just looked as irritated as Daria felt, but Amelia looked upset. She looked _scared_.

Daria took a brief look back, quick enough to see what was behind them without anyone noticing she was looking. (Why encourage the prats?) The Four Stooges weren't paying attention to them anymore.

"It's alright, Amelia. They're not following."

She knew, in this situation, friends would hug or put a matey arm on their friend's shoulder. An act of solidarity and camaraderie. An act of physically touching another person and taking them into your personal space, of exposing yourself.

She raised a hand, stiffly, and rested it gently on Amelia's shoulder, light enough to be quickly withdrawn.

The girl smiled. "Thanks."

* * *

Apologising had been… difficult. Getting through the conversation – actually explaining things to Amelia – had threatened outbursts, and Daria had to pause every few seconds to calm herself.

"It was just too much, I needed to hide and now I can't _stop_…" Pause, breathe, pause, start again. "I'd be even worse off if you hadn't been there, you saved me from a complete breakdown and in return I… I…" Pause, breathe, clench fists, unclench, breathe. "I… _I_…" Pause, breathe, focus.

"You don't have to-"

"**I DO! **I'm going to finish!" She closed her eyes, ignored the metal chords dancing in her mind's ear. "I shut you out, I ignored you… I… _excuse me_… I shut you out after what you'd done and that was wrong and I'm _sorry_."

She was sweating, out of breathe, her throat and stomach clenched up. But she'd managed it. It was all out there now.

"I don't know what to say," said Amelia. "As in, I really have no idea. I've never been in this situation before."

"I tend to respond with cutting sarcasm before I forgive people."

"Hey, next time can you shut up instead of shutting out?"

"Good one."

She smiled. "I have a good teacher."

"I have a teacher whose eye explodes with every fifth word," said Jane.

"I wish he was my teacher," said Daria. "Sorry Amelia, I calls dibsies."

"You can have the wussy teacher who says things like actualise your potential."

"What does that mean?" Amelia asked.

"Whatever we _want_ it to mean."

"Like 'play truant during my class'?"

"But then I can't nap."

"Do you go to school in one of Dante's circles of Hell?" asked Daria.

"Worse. Lawndale High is where Satan goes when he dies."

She blinked. "My sister goes there. Quinn."

"…Quinn _Morgendorffer?_" Jane frowned. "I thought she was an only child."

"Daria's her 'cousin', officially," explained Amelia. "Doesn't want people to think she's related to someone with a personality."

"You're really getting the hang of this!" Daria turned to Jane. "You live in Lawndale?"

"Sadly."

"Erm… It might be rude to ask, but could your brother give me a lift there? My family's there and…Well, you know how I ran away from Grove Hills to come here? I hadn't actually thought about what I was going to do _after_."

Amelia was aghast. "I was starting to wonder about that…"

"What the hey, gives me someone to talk to on the way home. Consider yourself in the Tank crew. So… anyone up for music?"

"Wow, they have bands _as well_ as interpersonal relationship angst? No wonder this festival is a hit."

"Autobots, transform and dance off!"

"I don't dance."

"I can't dance," said Amelia.

"I will, I can, and I'm willing to show you two how." Jane winked. "I'll try to avoid leading you into the romantic songs."

Amelia blushed again. "Aha."

"Can we dance to the ones about suicide? That would be fun."

* * *

Once you were close to the bands, the songs engulfed you: the rhythym and lyrics got into your head, whether you liked it or not, and you felt yourself become one of the crowd. Even the fact the band was called Ciggie Butt couldn't ruin the mood.

Jane was giving Amelia dancing tips, and the girl was starting to look less nervous and happier. Daria just stood there, one woman against the forces of having to move.

The song was going from maudlin to angry power chords at random, and the lyrics appeared to be concerned about how a girl wasn't noticing him but was noticing some jerk instead. The beat was quite catchy.

Daria closed her eyes, tapped her foot in time with the beat, and drifted into a calm oblivion.

* * *

When Alternapalooza had ended, Daria was still floating in a cloud of musical bliss, happier and calmer than she could remember being in months. Grove Hills was in another world, her parents something that could be faced. Everything was fine.

Jesse had been press-ganged into moving Daria's suitcase from Rob's car to the Tank – which gave Rob and Trent more time to chat about the awesomeness of Nirvana, and Daria a chance to cautiously eye Trent. (God she hoped she was going to sit with Jane; hours of staying calm around _that_? Gah.) Jane had finished talking to Amelia and was off directing Jesse, ensuring he could remember the way.

Amelia and Daria mutually fidgeted, unsure what to say.

"Jane's nice," began Amelia.

"Yeah. But she talks to me anyway. I seem to attract nice people."

"Oh hush."

She took out a piece of paper, torn from a Grove Hills textbook and scribbled on. "This is my parent's address and phone number. When they ground me for all time for running away from school, I'll need some correspondence. Hey, déjà vu."

"I'll send you a cake with a file in it."

"I've got Jane's address and number on there too. She'd give it to you in person, but she says there's a real danger Jesse will walk to another state without supervision."

Amelia blushed darker than she ever had before. "I, I, I'm sure Jane's just being polite, she's bound to have other people to talk to…"

Wheels turned in Daria's head. "You can plead the fifth here, but… are you nervous of talking to Jane for the same reason I'm nervous about talking to Trent?"

Amelia went from blushing to pale. "Ah _crap_."

"Ah."

"That's not why I wanted to be your friend, _I swear to god_, it's not like-"

"Amelia. Jane likes you. I promise. Not in that way, but she thinks of you as a friend. I don't think she'll make the sign of a cross because you're… um. And for the record, I won't either."

She smiled nervously, blushing again. "I get a bit paranoid over it. Sorry."

"Hey, I get paranoid too. And it turned out someone really was dumping uranium in Highland's drinking water, so there you go."

She put a matey hand on Amelia's shoulder, firmer this time. "Next time, I'm evacuating you from your school."

Smile. "I'll hold you to that."

* * *

The Tank had not gotten filthier, despite being parked in a muddy field – it was like all the dirt and human sweat was afraid of being polluted by it.

"Prepare for six hours of my brother driving, God help you all," said Jane.

"Hey, you know my sister. I'll swap. I'll even pay."

"What _is_ it like, being related to an Amazon Model?"

"…_oh god._ I thought Mum said something about that in a phone call, but I wasn't paying attention and thought I'd hallucinated it."

"If you want, you can eat the fossilised sandwich in the back and die before you get home…"

* * *

Before Rob set off, he turned back to his sister and, with some worry, asked: "Have a fun time, sis?"

"Yeah," she said, and to his amazement and joy she sounded like she meant it.

* * *

The Tank coughed through the night. After a while, Trent managed to thump the radio into working. Black Sabbath's Iron Man filled the van, threatening to blow out eardrums.

"Cool." He suddenly remembered the girls. "I can turn it down…"

"No," said Daria. "It's fine."

She sat back with her eyes closed, letting the music wash her away.

THE END


End file.
